The Woodlot’s Gift of Peace

I walk along the well-worn path
Silently among the trees.
Calmness settles in my heart
As I listen to the branches
Whisper in the breeze.

There in the distance stands the doe –
Stately, still, and head held high.
A mother’s protective stance
While her fawns linger in the brush nearby.

The weathered tree trunk beckons me
To stop and sit for a while,
I hug my knees and look up high –
A gossamer of sunlight’s grace
Falling from the sky.

The seagulls’ distant squawking
Means it’s time to go.
The woodlot’s gift of peace
Has recomposed my soul.

***

I wrote this poem in response to Charli Mills’ February 10th Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge. In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about wild spaces.